


Nightshade

by poetfaery



Series: Kiss Of Frost [5]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, because Pitch with a crush, this is adorable okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetfaery/pseuds/poetfaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivy and Pitch finally meet, and Autumn decides to play matchmaker. Which may involve Pitch in a suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I have created a post-movie canon where there are three other seasonal spirits, each created a hundred years after the last, the final one being Autumn.  
> Read my fic Where Ivy Grows to read about Ivy's past and how she and Autumn met!

           When they finally meet, we’re all taken by surprise. Darkness shrouds the trees and mists along the grass in roiling tendrils of black, and the now-familiar tickles of accompanying fear and doubt begin to gnaw at me. I shake them off with a fond smile and stand in expectation, Ivy gingerly following suit beside me. When Pitch finally emerges- in his usual dramatic fashion, from between the arched branches of  intertwined oaks- there is a short pause of startled silence as the two take each other in, punctuated by a short shriek from Ivy. I turn and catch a momentary glimpse of wide blue eyes before a flurry of golden flowers explodes outwards, eclipsing my view. When the blossoms settle, all that remains of my friend is a mound of nervously shifting yellow petals and a lingering sense of Ivy in the air and plants to my left.

           I cast a glance back at Pitch, who looks almost comically shocked, and signal with a finger for him to wait a moment. I crouch and touch the silky petals gently. “Ivy,” I murmur, “It’s okay, he’s a friend. _Ivy_.” A gentle nudge of change energy shimmers like a desert mirage from my fingertips, making the flowers shiver. After a moment, a light breeze kicks up from the west and I step back, watching with a relieved smile as the blossoms are swept up into a frenzied whirl. Suddenly, the wind shifts and the golden blur darts behind me, a long-fingered hand reaching up to grip my shoulder lightly. Long curls tickle my arm as she peeks over my shoulder, crouched low behind me in an attempt to hide her eight extra inches of height. Pitch takes a small step forward, eyes fixed on Ivy, and her fingers tighten reflexively, like the pulse of a heartbeat.

           “Hi, Pitch,” I say carefully, and his gaze darts back to mine for a moment before returning to Ivy, who may or may not be beginning to hyperventilate.

           “Hello, Autumn,” he returns, a strange note in his voice. “Who’s your friend?”

           I give Pitch a warning look and slide a little to the side, pulling Ivy next to me. “Pitch, this is Ivy Fiori. Ivy, Pitch Black.”

           Pitch glides closer and Ivy tenses, but neither runs nor explodes, which is a good sign. He takes her hand gently and presses a kiss to it, as he did with me when we first met, only with infinitely more care. “Enchanted.”

           Ivy blushes, but the wild look in her eyes (and therefore the possibility of her bolting) remains. She clears her throat and Pitch drops her hand gently and steps back. She turns to me, voice low and tremulous. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

           I nod and she pulls me back a few paces, clinging to my wrist desperately. “This guy is no good, Autumn,” she whispers. “He’s totally _Bad News Bears_.”

           I raise an eyebrow, lips quirking, but decide not to say anything. She gives me a pleading look and I melt a little. “Okay, Ivy. Okay. Just... two minutes.” She bites her lip and nods, staying put while I walk back to Pitch. When I look up, he’s still staring at Ivy, an expression I’ve never seen him wear before playing at the corners of his eyes.

           His gaze only falls on me when I’m right in front of him, and even then, his eyes wander every few moments. “Is she…?”

           I drag a hand through my fiery curls, suddenly and inexplicably tired. “Okay? Jumpy? A spirit? Single? Yes to all of the above.”

           The last question grabs his attention and he blinks at me, a defensive mask slipping across his dark features. “Please,” he scoffs. “You couldn’t possibly think-” His eyes dart over to Ivy again and he falls silent. I look over. She now sits beneath a tree, listening to her bluebird gossip at her from an outstretched finger and casting me a worried look every few moments, as if afraid that Pitch might eat me up. He clears his throat and tries again. “She’s-” he begins harshly. Confused gray-gold eyes drop to the ground and back up to mine. “She’s beautiful, actually,” he confesses in a low whisper, looking like a scolded puppy.

           My eyes widen in surprise and I cock my head to the side, regarding him with a fond smile. “Well, then,” I say briskly, pulling Pitch away by the hand. “Let me see what I can do to help.”

 

           Less than a minute later, we’re back, emerging in the same place from which Pitch had made his entrance. No shadows follow this time. Ivy looks up at me with a relieved expression, then pauses, darkly fringed eyes wide once again, as she sees Pitch.

           My changing magic may have worked too well, I decide with a strangled cough. Pitch strides out confidently, legs long and torso tapered in a fitted dark suit, black hair wrangled from its usual disarray into gently tousled and combed perfection. He looks younger somehow, and much more handsome. His eyes, now flooded with gold and a childlike vulnerability, find Ivy, and I get the feeling her wide eyes are not the result of fear. She rises slowly, her bird darting away (to gossip, presumably,) and makes her way over to us. I meet her halfway and take her hand, gently tucking a quickly transfigured white flower into her hair. “Is-… are-…” she stammers breathlessly, eyes fixed on the beautiful devil behind me.

           “Yes,” I breathe, pulling back. “Just give him a chance.”

           And so I leave them to their wonder, ancient and powerful spirits with the hearts of children, finding suddenly that there is one more surprise in a world fraught with magnificent things.

           Not that I leave them alone, of course.

           I’m the only responsible adult here.


End file.
